{Ishkur | Nikki’s Iona}
Today was the six-month anniversary of Iona Pax, the perfect day for Sagan and Korac’s wedding.
Except Korac had been calling non-stop since seven in the morning.
When the phone rang the first time, Andrew was upside-down and halfway to happy town. Lucas was vocal and oral about his guilt, and who was Andrew to deny his penance? Absolution felt divine between the sheets, in the bath, on the kitchen counter—Really everywhere.
And Andrew was drowning in it until Lucas’ comms went off. The damned Icarus maintained eye contact while licking the taste of Andrew from his lips before answering, “Steel Peppermint?”
“Elden dammit. Sagan called me that once in your presence, and now you’re under the impression you can call me by that name anytime you’d like?”
Quiet and lying back on the bed, Andrew quirked a brow.
Lucas kissed the inside of his lover’s thigh, still maintaining gilded eye contact. He said to Korac, “No, not anytime. Just anytime before eight in the morning.”
There was a long pause before Korac surrendered. “Fine. Pehton’s here—”
“Subjected to torture, no doubt.” Vicious in his temptation, Lucas licked Andrew in one long stroke of his warm, wet tongue.
Andrew’s eyes rolled far enough back to meet Eternity, and the bed buckled when he gripped it.
“—I’d appreciate if you’d come over in an hour like we talked about. She’ll need help with her straps before we start with me.”
“I’ll come before then.” A mischievous wink punctuated Lucas’ double entendres.
There was a heavy sigh on Korac’s end of the phone before he deadpanned, “I called during sex, didn’t I?”
Lucas’ laughter was rich and answered the question, but for good measure, the Icarus gripped Andrew’s throbbing skin so that he cried out, loud enough for Korac to hear. Lucas said, “Lazy morning sex, at that.”
Korac sounded like he was pinching the bridge of his nose as he said, “Pass on my regrets to Andrew. Head over whenever you’re ready.” He promptly disconnected the call.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The moment it ended, Lucas put his mouth back to work. Andrew tried to protest, albeit weakly. “Shouldn’t you… Oh, god… Shouldn’t you go help?”
Availing himself of the task, Lucas looked at Andrew with glittering eyes. His smile suggested he knew the answer to the question before he asked it. “Would you like me to stop?”
Andrew swallowed hard enough to hear it. “No. But—” He stopped Lucas from immediately persisting. “Five more minutes.”
“Challenge accepted.”
An hour and a half later, Lucas pilfered through his closet for last-minute touches. The rosewood paneled room occupied half the zeppelin anchored to Nikki’s Iona. The day Sagan opened a conduit big enough to fly it into Ishkur had felt like a momentous occasion, marking the return of Lucas and Smith to the Shadow. Andrew didn’t move in immediately. In fact, he and Lucas took it slowly, going on dates for the first three months. But one night four months ago changed all that.
Andrew had fallen asleep in the Probability Matrix observation lab. Celindria’s face came to him. Beautiful and demented. Deep violet skin and inviting curves wrapped in a golden gown. She’d woven gold thread in her braids and wrapped her locs in white ribbon. Painted gold and white patterns decorated her arms, chest, eyelids and lips.
The First Progeny stared her bright blue eyes at a view Andrew couldn’t see, but it was a hungry stare. Whatever she craved was in danger. Then he realized he could see what she coveted in the reflection of Celindria’s eyes.
What Andrew saw there was the end of everything.
He’d awakened with a deep drink of air, and his heart pounded like someone had defibrillated him. And all Andrew wanted—needed—in that moment was Lucas.
When he turned up at the Icarus’ zeppelin, it took no convincing to let him inside. More double entendres. Because if the end was coming—again—Andrew didn’t want to waste another second on taking things slow.
Like the air when he woke from his dream, Andrew drank deep of Lucas. Day after day. Night after night. Sometimes the Icarus looked at the Progeny as if he knew, but never asked.
And how could Andrew answer? Hey, I think Celindria’s alive, and she’s plotting her revenge in the Probability Matrix while looking fabulous. It sounded ridiculous.
So Andrew gathered evidence, whispers, and rumors. Nothing had turned up so far, but vigilance was key. One day, he’d either confirm or disprove his dream.
Until then… Wedding day.
“Now, I’m ready for Korac.” Lucas emerged from the closet with a warm smile, two garment bags, and three boxes of shoes. Polish included. “Are you certain my services aren’t needed here?”
At Lucas’ bouncing brows, Andrew laughed. “No. Andrius and Devis are on their way. We’ll put something together for everyone. Do you think T.a.o. will actually turn up for Korac’s union ceremony?”
When he reached the door, Lucas paused to shrug. “Hard to say. She needs more solitude and space than any other being I’ve encountered. And after spending thousands of years as Celindria’s prisoner, who can blame the poor girl?”
Andrew shuddered and changed the subject. “Will you stop by the Palatial Grounds and help Tameka and Sagan?”
Lucas laughed and melted away Andrew’s anxieties before saying, “I wouldn’t abandon them in their hour of need. Both the bride and the groom will receive my services today.”
Imperial Stylist.
What a title.
Lucas blew Andrew a kiss. “I’m off. Save a dance for me.” He left with a sexy wink.
They’d fought so hard for these moments of peace, but Andrew knew in his bones…
Iona Pax was temporary.
But then again, what wasn’t?